


Big Boy Feelings

by SecretGeniusShittyKnight (augopher)



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Crushes, Deaf Whiskey, Dex wants Whiskey (major hearteyes), Dyslexic Holster, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, Getting Together, Holster is Jewish, Holster loves ransom, Holstercentric, Hoslter loves superheroes, Large Boy with Large Amount of Emotion (Even when he's 7 yrs old), M/M, Potions, Protective ransom, References to Past Bullying, Self Confidence Issues, ableism (minor), carnivals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 16:06:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8452867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/augopher/pseuds/SecretGeniusShittyKnight
Summary: Due to a bit of clumsiness at a traveling carnival, Holster finds himself transformed back into his seven-year-old self with no memories of adulthood. He does, however, seem to have retained his strong feelings for a certain best friend of his. His friends band together to take care of the little guy over Spring Break, while they hope the effects of the spilled potion wear off. The only problem? Little Holster is not shy about telling Ransom how he feels and asking him to be his boyfriend or indicating their trip to the arcade is, in fact a date. The team was also not prepared to deal with Holster's low self-esteem stemming from childhood bullying.





	1. Just Like Slughorn

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution to the [Check Please Big Bang ](http://checkpleasebigbang.tumblr.com/) with ADORABLE art by [Bahoreal](http://bahoreal.tumblr.com/). So please head over to their blog and gush about how cute it is (because it is. It really is). 
> 
> I do not own these characters. I'm not that cool obviously. They belong to [Ngozi Ukazu](http://ngoziu.tumblr.com/%22) and appear in her webcomic [Check, Please!](http://omgcheckplease.tumblr.com/episodes)

“Oh come on, Dex! You need to lighten up, have some fun... live a little.” Holster grinned, giving Dex’s shoulders a little shake.

How could that kid be so damn adamant about not partaking in any rides? Rides! They were so much more fun than the obviously rigged games the team had been trying their luck at for the last hour. Holster liked a good game as much as anyone (Catan excluded. Cruel sheep empire. Cruel), but look, he was a big guy. A strong guy, and he barely hit 200 on that strongman game. None of the team did well, but a ten year old boy in line behind them rang the bell. See? Rigged. And as Shitty pointed out, misogynist as hell, playing to men’s fragile masculinity. Heaven forbid they only manage to max out at ‘ _Sissy Man_ ’.

Whatever. That was neither here nor there. Now, Dex being a party pooper, however, was both here _and_ there.

“Okay, one? My Uncle Snuffy-”

“You have an uncle named Snuffy?” Nursey spluttered out, covering his mouth to stifle his laughter.

“Yes. It’s a nickname, clearly.”

“For what? Sn-”

“Gianni. Anyway Uncle Snuffy is the twice-incarcerated, black sheep of the Rotoli family. What does he do for a living you ask? Drumroll, please. He’s a carny! The man is no Einstein, okay? He got caught robbing the same place... twice! But I’m telling you he’s like a genius in his line of work. So trust me when I say, _these_ rides are not safe. And two? There is nothing you can say make me get on one of those rides!”

Holster squinted. Maybe if he tried hard enough, he could actually _see_ the smoke coming from Dex’s ears. Then, Shitty walked ahead of the group, turned, and addressed them as though they were in court and he was practicing his skills. “And now for a rebuttal from someone who _isn’t_ a Negative Nelson. How about Chowder?”

Chowder smiled, tightening his arms around the giant, orange shark Farmer won for him at the Milk Bottle game. “Oh my God! I love the Ferris Wheel!”

“Yeah, not gonna happen.”

This time, Holster found himself agreeing with Dex. Heights were not his thing. Even looking over the edge of Niagara Falls made him nauseated. “Seconded on that one. But I’m talking about the Tilt-a-Whirl! It's a carnival requisite!”

Despite their best efforts, they could not convince Dex to ride with them. His loss, not that Holster cared one way or the other after he sat next to Ransom on the ride. So what if the spinning buckets would have them sliding into each other’s side. Who needed to know that he would be enjoying every minute of it? No one. That’s who.

 

***

 

“There, there, just get all that right out of your system.” Shitty rubbed Chowder’s back while the poor kid lost his lunch… for the second time in the five minutes since they'd exited the Tilt-a-Whirl. It had been exactly as wonderful as Holster had hoped. In hindsight, the fact he’d almost kissed Ransom when their bucket stopped spinning was not one of his proudest moments. But come on! The carnival lights had cast the most ethereal reflections on Ransom’s perfect face. It was downright poetic how beautiful he’d looked. Who could blame Holster for wanting to kiss him? If Holster had Nursey’s talent, he’d write a sonnet about it. As it stood, he did not. At best, all he could manage was an ode.

 

_Oh glorious cheekbones cut from dark glass_

_And that most perfect sculpted ass_

_How I adore them both, the masterful works of art that they are._

 

Yeah. He was definitely no Byron. Still, he filed away his creation into his mind’s memory banks where he would revisit it in the future. He was sure he could fit another couplet or two in there to express Ransom’s beauty.

When the sound of Chowder retching once more, filled the air around them, the group decided that perhaps Dex had the right idea about rides. So, they pressed on, moving right past the games.

Something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. So Holster reached down and grabbed Ransom's wrist, dragging him towards a little trailer. It looked like it had jumped from the screen of an old Hollywood film. Its purple exterior was wooden with cracked and peeling paint, but strands of lights illuminated it like magic. Faux silk curtains decked the entrance.

“A fortune teller? You know that’s just some old woman with an affected, sad excuse for a vague Slavic accent, doing her best attempt at appropriating Romani culture. All the while, her name is Janice and she’s from Hoboken. Her crystal ball is actually is a clear playground ball that’s been spray painted. You know that right?”

Holster smacked himself in the forehead before dragging both hands down his face. “Yes, Dex. I do know that. I just don’t care. Okay? It’s supposed to be fun. Let us have this. You get to pick the next team outing. For crying out loud! Someone buy him a snow cone or something. He needs to remember how to have fun.”

Inside, dozens of plush, velvet cushions decorated the trailer. The walls were adorned with woven throws hanging from little hooks. There was an antique table surrounded by three wicker chairs sitting in the middle of the room. Two built-in benches lined both walls. NExt to the entryway was an armoire of sorts, and sitting atop it were dozens of small vials of different colored liquids.

Holster figured they were probably for show. As such, he felt no qualms about messing around with them. He pretended to mix a potion in the black mortar that sat nearby.

“Dude, what the hell are you doing?” Though Dex’s voice was soft, his tone of irritation was clear.

“You said it yourself. These are just bottles of food coloring and water, and I’m just pretending. What is the harm in a little fun?” He grabbed a couple and tipped them over the bowl once more. “Hey, Ransy, look at me. I feel just like Professor Slughorn!”

 

 

Ransom cocked an eyebrow at him. “I have no idea who that is, but for the sake of this exercise, I’ll indulge you. Yes, yes you do, Holster. You keep rocking that Slugworth vibe.”

Holster rolled his eyes at him. “Slughorn not slugworth. One is a professor at Hogwart’s. The other is Willy Wonka’s rival chocolatier. I’ll leave you to figure out which.”

Dex reached out and covered his hand as he wrapped his fingers around another vial, plucking it from its rack. “I’m sure they are just colored water, but carnies are _extremely_ protective of their things and their people. They do not like you messing with their stuff. Uncle Snuffy threw an absolute shitfit once when my brother borrowed his pipe wrench from his ‘toolbox’. Oh and by toolbox, I mean a five gallon pickle bucket filled with tools he swiped from other people. Like I said, criminal mastermind Snuffy is not.”

“Fine, I’ll put it back,” Holster grumbled. When Dex removed his hand, he knocked the vial loose. It fell to the marble armoire top and shattered. In the process, its contents splashed up into Holster’s face. He wrinkled his nose at the smell. “Ugh, that reeks. Whatever that liquid _used_ to be has gone rancid.” Without thinking, he wiped his face clean with the back of his hand. His carelessness, however, came back to bite him as he dragged his hand over his eyelids. “Holy hell! That shit stings like a motherfucker. This is what I get for taking your advice and wearing my contacts, Shitty.”

His eyes still burned minutes later. Despite his protests to the contrary, Ransom dragged him out of the trailer and maneuvered him  over to a food truck to examine him. “Well, Doc, what’s the diagnosis? Am I dying?”

Ransom shook his head and dug Holster’s glasses case from Lardo’s tote. “Good news? No. Bad news? You need to toss this pair of contacts.” He handed him a bottle of Purell. “Take ‘em out.”

Holster saluted him and complied. Even with his contacts removed, his eyes still watered, and he couldn’t keep from rubbing at them. Ransom cupped the back of his head, tilting it back.

“This isn’t a perfect solution for sterilized eye-wash, but it’s gonna have to do. Open up.” He waited for Holster to hold open his eyes before splashing the freshly opened bottle of Evian in his eyes.

“Well,” Holster said after he’d patted his face dry with a napkin, “how do they look?” He batted his eyes at Ransom.

“Blue and bloodshot, but still pretty.”

“Aww, thanks, Ransy. Given the alternative, I’ll take it. Let’s just go back to the Haus and get drunk so I can forget how badly my eyes hurt right now.”

Dex shook a finger at him. “See, this is why you should listen to me. You’ll be lucky if you don’t catch the plague from whatever that was in the bottle.”

He clapped Dex on the shoulder. “You may be cute, Dex, but, you Sir, are a worrywart. I’m going to be just fine. You’ll see.”

 


	2. "I Hope a Bird Poops in Your Hair!"

Ransom’s eyelids fluttered open. From the small attic window, the first touches of dawn glinted in and painted the room in a dim, orange glow. He fumbled in the gap between his mattress and the railing for where kept his phone at night.

6:30

Too early for him to wake up without an alarm, so what had roused him? With a yawn, he sat up and stretched his stiff limbs. That’s when he heard the soft kitten-like mewl from the bunk below him. Holster was whimpering? What in the hell-

Still groggy, Ransom stumbled down the ladder. “Hey, Holtzy. Your eyes still bothering you?”

If someone had asked him before that moment if he believed in magic, Ransom would have flat out denied it. That was just it though. Before _this_ moment, he _didn’t_. Yet, as he found himself staring at Holster--an obviously smaller, and younger Holster for that matter--he decided that it was probably for the best if he just went right ahead and accepted the fact that magic existed.

So he did. Why? Because as tiny Holster blinked at him, the rubbed his eyes with two small hands, it took three seconds (he counted) before Holster started crying.

“Where’s my mama? My eyes are ouchie! I want my mama!” And then he was full on sobbing into his pillow.

At a loss, Ransom took a couple steps forward. “Hey, Holster…” Deciding that using his nickname was not a good idea, he softened his voice and tried again. “Adam, do you remember who I am?”

Holster squinted at him. “It’s too dark. You’re all fuzzy.”

He grabbed the pair of glasses off the dresser and handed them to him. They slid right off his face.

“These aren’t mine. My glasses are blue and have Spiderman on the side. These are grown-up glasses.”

“You lost them. I’ll see if I can find them later. Okay?”

Now that Ransom was close enough, Holster eyed him with intense suspicion. “Who… are you?”

It took a moment for him to steel his expression and hide his hurt, but Ransom managed. “My name is Justin, but everyone calls me Ransom. I’m babysitting you.”

And again with the suspicious eyebrows. “No. My nana _always_ babysits me. She reads the bestest stories. She’s good at all the voices.”

“Are you hungry, Adam? I know we have some Cap’n Crunch downstairs.”

“With Crunchberries?”

“Is there any other kind?”

“No,” Adam said, sliding to the edge of the bed and hopping to the floor, his sore eyes and wariness forgotten now that sugary cereal was an option. Ransom couldn’t understand how Holster could still like that stuff, but for once, it worked in their favor. Yet, as he took a couple of steps, Holster tripped on the comically large sweatpants. His small body made a thud as it collided with the floor, but he didn’t seem hurt though. He just wriggled out of the pants and stood once more, staring down at his toes. “Hey! Where’s my big boy underwear?”

He rummaged around in the sweatpants before pulling out the pair of boxer briefs, holding them up in front of him. “Holy birthday cake, Batman! These are humongous!” He noticed his baggy shirt as well. “Hey! I got to wear Daddy’s shirt to bed. Awesome!”

 

***

 

“Let me get this straight,” Bitty yawned, mixing bowl in one hand, wooden spoon that he brandished in Ransom’s direction in the other. “That little boy--that adorable little boy--is Holster? Our Holster... giant, loud, Holster?”

“Yep.”

“That’s…” He caught sight of Shitty about to light up a joint in the kitchen. “Oh no you don’t! Not in front of the kid.”

Holster shoveled another, too-big spoonful of cereal in his mouth. “That’s not the stinky stuff is it? Mama says my cousin Sam needs to quit smoking, 'cause he smells skunky,” he said, mouth full, with bits of cereal falling out of his mouth and back into the bowl.

Good to see that somethings never changed.

Ransom chuckled, “See? He says you’ll smell skunky. We wouldn’t want that would we?”

Shitty pointed at him, “Brah, Imma forgive you both called this sweet strain I’m rolling skunky. More important things are at hand.  Why in the hell-”

“Naughty word! Pay the Swear Jar!" Holster shouted, emphatically pointing at Shitty.

"Why is Holster a wee babe again?"

"Hey! I’m not a baby! I’m seven!” He held up six fingers.

Seven really? If you were to ask Ransom, he would have said five years old, tops. Reconciling the huge, hockey-playing adult with this slight kid in front of him was hard.

“Buddy, that’s not seven.” Ransom reached across the table and helped him to display the correct number of fingers.

“Oh,” and his whole demeanor changed in an instant. It was jarring for Ransom to see Holster deflate in front of him. “Sorry,” he said, his voice small. “Are you gonna pick on me, too?” He knotted his little fingers in his lap.

“What? Why would I do that? Grown-ups should not bully children. Well no one should bully anyone, but grown ups especially shouldn't.” His heart hurt at the thought that came unbidden into his mind. “Hey, Adam, does that happen to you, with grown-ups picking on you?”

“No. But kids at school do. They call me all kinds of mean things. They pick on me cause we don’t have Christmas at my house. One kid, Billy, tries to put ham in my lunch all the time. And I tell him, he can’t do that, cause I can’t eat ham, but he don’t care. The other kids call me Shrimp and A-dum-dum. I don’t... I don’t read so good. But I’m the bestest in music class, and I’m real good at math and gym even though I’m small... they’re mean. I don’t like them, and I don’t like school.”

Rage and the desire to go to battle on Holster’s behalf bubbled up in Ransom’s chest. “Can I tell you a secret? It’s a pretty cool secret. But you gotta promise not to tell anyone.”

“Deal.”

“Do you believe in magic? You know, like Harry Potter?”

Holster’s brows drew into a deep furrow. “Who is Harry Potter?”

Lardo, whom Ransom hadn’t even known was sitting at the table, scrolled on her phone. “Tough luck, bro. HP wasn’t around yet.”

“Like _Matilda_? That’s my favorite movie. My mama reads me the book.”

“Yeah. Like that.”

“Didja know that Becca Richards can read it all by herself. So can other kids, but not me.”

Ransom reached over and patted him on the head. “It’s okay if takes you a little longer to get good at reading. Everyone is different.”

“I gotta go to the dumb kids class for book time. The teachers say the same thing. That I’m just slower. But it’s... all the letters look funny. I know their names, but they look funny. They go whoosh.”

Wait... what? He’d get back to that later. Instead, Ransom directed the conversation back to magic. “Do you think it’s real?”

Holster nodded. “Yeah.”

“Then can I show you something?” he asked, pulling his phone from his pocket. He scrolled through the pictures until he found the one he was looking for. “See this here?” He handed him the phone to show him the photo of Holster with his parents and Ransom over summer break last year.

“But that’s Mama and Daddy. That’s you. Who is this big guy?”

“You when you’re a grown-up.”

Holster’s eyes grew to the size of saucers. “You’re from the future!”

“No, you’re from the past.”

“Oh my gosh! I gotta go find David and tell him ‘bout time travel. This is so cool!”

“Not so fast, McFly.” Ransom reached out and snagged his collar. He’d forgotten that little Holster wasn’t wearing any underwear, and when he pulled, his butt showed from under the shirt. Holster wriggled away, tugging the shirt down to cover himself. “Sorry, I forgot.”

Holster scowled at him. “Not cool!”

“Hey, little buddy,” Lardo said, “what size clothes do you wear?”

“Dunno. But my underwear gots a squiggly letter on the tag.”

“Squiggl-”

Lardo cut off Shitty's retort, “Small?”

“Yeah!”

“Okay. When Target opens, I’ll head over and get you something that will fit.”

 

***

 

“But it’s my turn! You watched stupid grown-up shows all day long! They say naughty words and do bad things and they are soooooooo boring.” Holster scrambled over the back of the couch and attempted to grab the remote from Shitty’s hand. He failed of course. Ransom actually detected a hint of a smirk playing at the corner of Shitty's mouth as he held the remote just high enough above Holster’s head for it to be out of his reach, even when jumping.

“Sorry, short stack. You must be this tall to control the remote,” Shitty said with wry amusement. He was having way too much fun at the fact that Holster, usually a half a foot taller than him was now so small.

“Oh yeah? Well you’re a meanie-bo-beeny booger face with a stupid mustache, and I hope a bird poops in your hair!”

Ransom managed to contain his laughter for a total of five seconds, approximately the amount of time it took Holster to run out of the room (but not before kicking Shitty in the shin on his way out).

“What are you laughing at? He kicks hard for a little kid.” Shitty rubbed his tender leg. “The nerve of him to call my 'stache stupid. We need to sit him down and have a talk about ableist language.”

“You brought this on yourself, Booger Face, besides, I don’t think it’s wise to lecture him about that, Shits. Seems like he got called stupid a lot at this age. You’ll probably make things worse.” Ransom was quick enough to snatch the remote from Shitty’s grasp, and switched it to golf.

“Perhaps if we tell him it’s not a nice thing to say nor is it okay for anyone to call him that…”

“I’m telling you to give it a rest.”

“Bartholomew Mr. Cruddy Knight! Tell me he’s mistaken and you did _not_ just pick on sweet, little Adam and make him cry!” Bitty shouted brandishing a whisk at Shitty, drops of cupcake batter flying everywhere. Holster stood behind him, peeking around Bitty’s legs, big fat tears rolling down his face.

“He did! He’s a big stupid meanie head. All’s I wanted to do was watch one show, but he teased me! I said it’s my turn, jus’ like Justin promised, and he don't listen,” he sobbed, and then angrily pointed at Shitty. “He needs a timeout!”

Bitty put his hand on his hip and affected his most passive aggressive tone, one which the whole team had become familiar with in the last year. “I think you’re right, Adam. But, he’s a bit big for the timeout chair. So, how about this? Mr. Cruddy, if you want any of these cupcakes I’m making, you let him watch cartoons, and you do it now.”

“I don’t wanna watch cartoons! It’s time for Xena!” He shouted ululating just like the eponymous TV character and ran around the living room, pretending to fight bad guys.

Aside from his sisters and a few cousins, Ransom didn’t have a _ton_ of experience with small children. Yet, he had to admit, seeing Holster like this was endearing, as if he really needed to endear himself _more_ to Ransom. They were best bros for life; Holster was already more important to him than just about everyone else.


	3. The Falcon to My Captain America

Elbows deep in a bin of clearance acrylics, Lardo felt a tug on her flannel. She tore her attention away from her quest to find a tube of Dioxazine Purple and looked down to see Holster clutching a Captain America coloring book.

“Miss Larissa, do you think you can buy this for me, and maybe some crayons?” he asked, his voice bright yet polite.

“How much are they?”

She watched him study the price tag on each item for quite awhile.

“Well, the book says $3.59 and the crayons are $1.75. So... five dollars and thirty-four cents.”

“Good job, but you forgot about this word here,” she tapped her finger on the ‘Clearance’ sticker on the coloring book.

His brows furrowed and a deep scowl bloomed on his face. “I... I... don’t know what that says.”

“That’s okay. Just try to sound it out.”

He blinked at her a few times, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. When that same lip began to quiver, she tried to help.

“What letters do you see? Let’s just start there.” She held her finger over the ‘C’. “How about this one?”

“That looks like an ‘X’, and the next one is a nine. Um… a sled, and an ‘A’, I think.  And um, I don’t... know… maybe an ‘I’ and a mons... ter. I dunno all the letters are swirly like when you spin on a merry-go-round too fast. I can’t...” as he finished, there was no way for Lardo to miss the sound of unshed tears in his voice, nor how small his voice had become.

She knelt down and grabbed both the book and the crayons. “I’ll get these for you.” When tears started to roll down his face, she pulled him into a hug. “It’s okay. You don’t have to cry because you couldn’t read the word. Everyone struggles with words sometimes. That doesn’t mean you’re not smart.”

And that last sentence was apparently the absolute wrong thing to say to him in that moment, because he pushed away from her. “Yes it does! I’m not smart; I’m stupid, stupid, stupid” he cried, smacking himself in the forehead with each repetition of the word. “A-dum-dum, the stupid-head! I’m never gonna learn to read, and I’ll a big dumb baby forever!” In anger and frustration, he dashed the tears out of his eyes with the back of his hand before running out of the store.

Lardo abandoned her quest for that perfect purple and ran after him, leaving a ten dollar bill to cover his items, and offering an embarrassed apology on her way out. Luckily, she found him, sitting on the curb, his head buried in his folded arms upon his knees. She didn’t need to ask to know he was sobbing.

 

 

Instead of saying anything, she sat beside him and rubbed his back until he calmed down. Then, she handed him the crayons and book, and they made the long trek back to the bus stop in silence.

 

***

 

After a long goodbye in which the team waved off Shitty and Jack as they pulled away from the Haus in their respective cars, Lardo sighed  and pushed that familiar sense of loss and a missed opportunity out of her mind. Back inside, Bitty and Whiskey worked in the kitchen getting dinner ready for the group. She found the rest of the team packed around the table.

In front of each one of the guys was a piece of paper, and a pile of implements sat in the middle of the table. “Where did you get the colored pencils and markers?” God she hoped those weren’t her Prismacolors.

Dex shook his head. “No, they’re Whiskey’s. He had some, as he called them but edited for small ears, ‘cruddy as all fudging heck’ stuff he uses for storyboards that he didn’t mind lending Adam here.”

Those fucking hearteyes the kid sported whenever he talked about Whiskey- Fucking hell, he needed to get his act together and ask the guy out before it killed him.

“Yeah, you want to color too, Miss Larissa?”

“Why does he do that,” Nursey started, “address you so properly but use all our names? I want to be Mr. Derek.”

Holster switched out his red crayon for a blue one. “Because my teachers tell me I gotta do that. Call them Miss. Miss Larissa is the boss here, isn’t she?”

She ruffled his hair, earning a wide-eyed and earnest grin. “That’s right, kiddo. And don’t you all forget that. I am in fudging charge of this ship.” She looked down at Holster’s picture. “What do you have there?”

“That’s Captain America. He useta have bad eyes, jus’ like me. And he got picked on too. S’why he’s my favorite. Maybe I’ll be big and strong when I’m growed up too. I’m gonna be him for Halloween. That’s Falcon. Hey you know what?” Hastily, he finished his drawing, covering it with his arms as best he could to shield it from prying eyes. Then, after folding up the paper, he hopped down from his chair, mop of blonde hair only slightly visible over the table top, and walked over to Ransom.

Knowing him as an adult, if someone had told her that Holster would be so small for his age as a child, she never would have believed them.

“Do you want to be Falcon with me for Halloween, Justin?”

Ransom scratched his chin. “Which one is Falcon again? The one with the metal arm?”

She covered her mouth to hide her chuckle at Holster’s subsequent eyeroll.

“No, silly. That’s Bucky. That’s Steve’s bestest friend ever.”

Considering this thought for a moment, Ransom nodded. “Well then, I should be Bucky. Because when you are a grown up, I am your bestest friend ever.”

Holster’s posture seemed to deflate at his words. Why would the idea of them being best friends when Holster grew up be a bad thing? His fingers fumbled with the folded drawing. “I drawed something for you.”

“Drew,” Nursey said, seemingly without thinking.

Holster licked his lips and looked down at his toes. “Oh yeah. Miss Tammy says I gotta do better with my words. I mix up the… I don’t remember what it’s called, but like stuff that happens already.”

“Past tense?”

Ignoring the fact his drawing was still clutched in his hands, Holster ran both hands through his hair, tugging at the strands in frustration as he mumbled under his breath. Lardo couldn’t make out all the words, but the way he chastised himself with ‘ _Stupid, stupid, stupid_ ,’ was crystal clear. Ransom reached out and pulled Holster’s hands out of his hair.

“Don’t do that, buddy. I don’t care what the other kids say, you are not stupid,” he said, emphasizing every word.

“Sorry about that, Adam.” Nursey smiled at him. “It’s a bad habit. Is Miss Tammy your teacher?”

“Yeah. One of them. I go to her and Miss Kimiko for book time. She helps me talk better and Miss Kimiko helps me read.”

Ransom changed the subject and pointed to the crumpled paper in Holster’s hand. “What’s that.” Holster reached out and handed it to him. “This is for me?”

He nodded. “You gotta be Falcon. Cause…”

Ransom opened the picture and stared down at the paper for a long while. His brows furrowed and lips drew in. “I… I’m sorry, Adam. I don’t know what this says.”

Oh for crying out loud! How hard could a child’s handwriting be to read? Lardo walked around the table and looked at the drawing. She took it back. Apparently, if that handwriting belonged to little Holster, it was _impossible_ to read. Still, the meaning of the picture came across loud and clear. “Ransom... I don’t think you need to be able to read it. Drawing says it all. Don’t you think?”

“The brown crayon is the wrong color, ‘cause it’s too light.” Holster reached out and touched Ransom in the nose. “You’re skin is darker than that and a lot nicer. Sorry it don’t look good.”

Would you look at that? Dex wasn’t the only one in the room who got hearteyes for a teammate. The way Ransom almost melted at the compliment- Looks like she’d need to start playing matchmaker.

"This is me?” Ransom pointed to Falcon.

“If you wanna be. See, that’s me. I’m Captain America. That’s suppose’ta be you.”

Ransom continued to look at the rendering of the pair of them as superheroes, superheroes who were holding hands and surrounded by hearts. “Hey, can you tell me what this says?”

“You have problems reading, too?” Holster asked with wonder.

Lardo braced for the worst, but found herself pleasantly surprised.

“Sometimes. I forgot my contacts. It’s a bit blurry. Can you help me?”

Holster’s face flushed an adorable shade of pink. “It... um... I-” He giggled and covered his mouth. “Will you be my boyfriend? This box is for yes and this one is no.”

Lardo was not a mushy and overly emotional sort of person by any means. She considered herself contained and reserved, but a little kid giving Ransom a love note with a ‘check yes or no’, was enough to make her coo, which she did, and earned several confused looks from the team. “What? Can any of you tell me that was not the most adorable thing our Holster has ever done?”

“But Adam, I can’t be your boyfriend.”

Holster’s lip trembled. “Why not? Don’t you like me? I like you. You’re like a handsome Disney prince, but none them are as pretty as you.”

“Of course, buddy. Just. I’m a grown-up, and grown-ups and little kids can’t be boyfriends.”

“But why not?” he whined.

“That’s just the way it is, Adam.”

“Well, I hate it! You’re nice and smart, not like me. I want to be your true love!” he cried and ran up the stairs, leaving the group in stunned silence.

 

***

 

Ransom collapsed into his chair that strained under his weight. He hoped it didn’t break and send him crashing to the floor. Over the last week that they’d been stuck with little Holster, the whole Haus had figured out that he seemed to have none of his adult memories. It wasn’t like he had a twenty-four year old brain stuck in a seven year old body. No, they were all in agreement that Holster was seven in mind and body, but…

“Did that just happen? Like I didn’t imagine all that did I?” Dex asked. “I thought we determined he didn’t remember any of us.”

“Yeah, we did, but memories and emotions are different, and love is a tricky one.” Lardo shrugged as if none of this was news to her.

“But I don’t care what movies tell us, you do not fall in love with someone in a week.” God Dex could be a grump sometimes.

Lardo took a sip of her drink. “Maybe little, Holtzy feels the same as big Holster does about Ransom.”

“I mean, Holster wasn’t in love with you before. So this is just some little kid crush. It will pass.”

Whiskey’s bright laughter echoed in the room. “You’re kidding right, Will? Assuming I read your lips correctly, which I am like 90% sure I did, how the hell are you all so oblivious? Dude was most certainly in love with Justin as an adult. Fucking obvious.”

What? “No way.”

Moving the pile of art supplies out of the way, Bitty set a couple dinner platters down on the table. “I am inclined to agree here. Especially after the laundry incident.”

“Huh? What laundry incident?” Was his entire team bent on speaking in code?

Bitty tapped him on the arm. “Oh bless your heart, Justin. You were otherwise, ahem… busy. I believe your doorknob code is a jockstrap, if I’m not mistaken.”

Feeling sheepish, he sank down in his chair. This was not what he wanted to talk about right now.

“A certain someone,” Bitty pointed at the ceiling, “came downstairs with a basket of laundry and folded it at the kitchen table. All the while he complained about your extra-curriculars when you should have been studying. He was pretty snippy with Jack about it. Textbook jealousy if I’ve ever seen it.”

“He what?”

Nursey rubbed his chin. “Remember when Holster yelled at me for suggesting Ransom needed to chill when he was in coral reef mode once?”

“Or that time where he serenaded you with Nick Jonas,” Lardo snickered.

Ransom scrubbed both hands down his face as his friends continued citing examples. With each passing one, it became more obvious until what finally hit him was, “Wait. What do you mean about the best friend sundaes?”

Dex shrugged, “Like my work study last semester was to work in the dining hall twice a week.”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“The soft serve totally has gelatin in it.”

Bitty tilted his head to the side. “Ice cream blasphemy aside, why is that a problem?”

“It says right on the label not vegetarian. Dairy and meat together? The ice cream’s not Kosher, and yet, for you, Ransom, Holster eats it.”

“Holy shit. He’s in love with me.”


	4. You Think This is a Date, Don't You?

Lights and bells filled the arcade as Adam dragged Justin to the change machine. “I’m so excited! This is gonna be so awesome! Thank you, thank you, thank you for bringing me!” He dug his wallet out of his pants pocket, opening it to reveal a ten dollar bill that he fed into the machine. When the clattering sounds of falling tokens reached his ears, he began to giggle with glee.

“Whoa! Where’d you get a wallet… and money?” Justin asked.

Adam grabbed his hand, turning it over so the palm faced upward, and deposited the metal coins into it. “Hold these.”

“Please.”

Ugh, grown ups... why did they like manners so much? “Please, would you hold these? Thank you. Those are for you.” He stuck another bill into the machine. “Miss Larissa helped me make this out of that gray tape Will had in his tool box.”

“Ah I see. Duct tape wallet, eh? Looks nice. Now, who gave you money? I know grown-up you would never keep cash lying around. You would just invest it. You grow up to save money rather than spend it.”

Adam pushed his glasses up on his nose. These were too big, but better than the grown-up ones Justin tried to make him wear. And, these were cool green and zebra print. “Grown-up me sounds super boring.”

“Well, no. I guess not all the time. You like to have a good time. You love TV and movies, videogames.” Justin knelt down in front of him. “And... you are an amazing hockey player.”

“Yeah. That’s what Eric said. I dunno if I believe him.”

Justin took off his glasses and cleaned them off for him. Then, he placed them back on his face. Wow, he was really pretty, like those people on mama’s magazines in their silly clothes. The ones who never smile.

“It’s true. The manager for Seattle and you have been talking back and forth for a couple months. They’re looking to sign you when you graduate.”

Adam furrowed his brows. “That’s not true. Seattle don’t have a team. I know all the NHL teams. Me an’ daddy watch all the Bruins’ games we can.”

“They got one in 2005, lil’ bro.”

Adam’s jaw hit the floor. “So when I’m all grown up, I’m gonna play pro hockey? Take that, Billy!” He folded up his wallet and crammed it back into his pants pocket. “Mr. Cruddy said if anybody asked me how I got the money, I’m supposed’ta say, ‘I got my sources.’ But then Will said that made it sound like I was dealing, but I dunno what that means.”

Like he was actually going to tattle on the whole team? As if. Everybody had been giving him money. Five dollars here, ten dollars there. They had also been filling him in on things Justin liked.

“Okay. Will, is right, but okay. What should we play first?”

“No, no. I want something to drink first,” he reached down and tugged Justin’s hand, leading them over to the concessions. “What would you like? S’my treat.”

“You don’t have to do that, little buddy.”

“No, I do. This is a date, and my cousin, Gabe, says boys  _ always _ pay on a date. It’s the rules.”

Justin sighed, “Adam, I told you grown-ups and little kids can't date. It's wrong.”

“But why?” he whined. “I wanna be your boyfriend.”

“It's just the way things are. Besides even if that wasn't the case, we're both boys. Did Gabe say who pays then?”

Adam tightened his little hands into fists. Gabe was such a know-it all meanie.“No, and he wouldn't. He don’t like it when boys go on dates with other boys.” He scowled down at the ground.

“Did he tell you that?”

Adam rolled his eyes at him. “Well he asked me if I got any girlfriends to be my Valentine. I told him, I said not this year, but I got a Valentine. His name is Michael, and Gabe told me that was gross. Boys can’t be my Valentines. But I don't care what he thinks though. Mama yelled at him when he said that. He got in super big trouble. My Aunt Miriam grounded him for three whole weeks. When I told Mama that boys were just as pretty as girls, she and Daddy said that was okay to think that. So, this is a date and I'm gonna pay.”

Justin waved him off with a chuckle. “Good thing you have their support You’re not gonna let this go until I let you pay are you?”

“Nope,” he said, letting the ‘p’ pop off his lips. “Soooooooo what do you wanna drink?”

“I guess I will have a Sprite please.”

Adam slapped a five dollar bill onto the counter he couldn’t even see over. “I would like two Sprites please.”

Once they had their drinks, and after taking a long, slurping drink--followed by a loud ‘ahh’--he asked Justin again, “What game would you like to play first?”

“I like Skee-Ball.”

“No way! That is my favorite! Come on!” Rather than grab Justin’s hand this time, Adam ran over and found two empty lanes next to each other. “I bet you five dollars that I am better than you are.”

 

***

 

Was it wrong to make bets with children, especially when you were pretty sure you’d win? Still, Holster was a convincing child, convincing and tenacious. “You’re on.”

Holster’s tongue stuck out the corner of his mouth as he concentrated dropping a token into the slot. Though it took him a few tries, he eventually got it, and clapped in excitement when the wooden balls came rolling down the chute.

Ransom grabbed a ball and rolled it up the lane. Fifty. Fifty was a good number. Rather than give in to temptation and peek at Holster’s score, he kept his focus on his own. He finished with 400 points. Not his best effort, but surely Holster couldn’t-

“You got 690?” Ransom squawked. Had to be beginner’s luck. “Rematch?”

Holster eyed him for a few seconds, brows drawn together in shrewd regard. “How much money you got on you?”

“You worried that I won’t pay up?”

“No. You look like someone who tells the truth. I just don’t want to take all your money.”

Oh no. He was not going to be sassed and trash-talked by a seven year old. Absolutely not. “Rematch?”

Holster shrugged. “Fine. Your funeral.”

Game after game, he lost, and handedly at that. The closest the score ever got was 600 to 750. He gave up when he’d lost twelve games in a row and owed Holster fifty bucks. “Okay, okay. I call ‘uncle’. You win. You are definitely better than me.”

Holster grinned up at him, his arms straining to keep their hold on the armful of tickets he’d won. Hell, one game alone gave him over four hundred tickets. Kid sunk all nine balls in the 100 point hole and won himself a free ball... which gave him another ball… and so on until he finally missed, ending the game with 2150 in total points. It was astounding how the kid could be so damn good at Skee-ball.

“What now?”

“Well, I got all these tickets and…” Holster didn’t even finish his train of thought before bolting over to the prizes and shoving all the tickets up onto the counter. It took three good shoves to get them all up there. “Hello, Sir. How many tickets I got?”

The cashier raised an eyebrow at him, most likely wondering how a kid this small amassed that many tickets. Nevertheless, he bundled them up and weighed them. When he pointed to the ticket counter, Holster studied it for a minute or two.

“Five thousand tickets?” he shouted. “That’s the most I ever won!”

“Hey, Adam?” Ransom asked. “You only have problems reading letters?”

“Uh huh. I’m good at math. I can do long division already. Nobody else in my class can do that. Or the class I should be in.”

“Should be?”

Holster nodded, lips twitching with what he assumed was anxiety. “My class last year. Everybody else got to go to second grade. I was too dumb.”

Hold the phone. Holster had been held back a year? Why had that never come up in their friendsh- no scratch that. Ransom kicked himself (metaphorically of course) that for as strong as their bro-bond was, Holster didn’t feel comfortable enough telling him  _ any _ of his early school struggles.

“Like I told you, you are not dumb. Quit listening to those kids at school.”

Holster gave him an exaggerated sigh. “Okay fine.” Then, he turned his attention to the cashier. “Well, could you give me two pairs of those light up glasses? No, not the ugly salmon colored ones, the punk-rock pink ones. Yep, those.” He carefully maneuvered the novelty glasses onto his face in front of his eyeglasses, then he looked up at Ransom. “This pair is for you.” He set them in his hand with an exaggerated flourish.

Ransom stared at the light up, heart-shaped, shutter shades. Oh hell no, but the way little Holster had his hands clasped under his chin and was affecting his best puppy expression was impossible to say no to. So he obliged. “How do I look?”

His face as solemn as it could be behind those ridiculous glasses, Holster patted him in the chest. “Mirror mirror on the wall... Justin is the prettiest of them all.”

As Ransom broke out in hysterical laughter, Holster continued to spend his tickets. “Let’s see… ooh, ooh, ooh. I want a Captain America shield and plushie! And… one of those superhero capes, a Tootsie Pop... an orange one, and that black slap bracelet.”

The cashier fumbled around in the case. “This one?”

“Yep.”

“Are you sure?” The man didn’t look convinced that Holster could possibly want that one, and Ransom was standing too far away from the case to see it clearly.

“That’s what I said.”  Once he had the bracelet and items in question, Holster began picking out other little things, stating they were for everyone else at the Haus. When he’d finished, and spent his tickets, he gave Ransom his prizes. “This is for you. Wait, can you kneel down so I can reach?”

“What? Why?” To Ransom’s surprise, Holster fastened the superhero cape around his neck.

“There, now you're a superhero.” Adam shook an admonishing finger at him, “You have to only use your powers for good. Like Spider-Man's Uncle Ben says, ‘With great power comes great reponbisility... reponsibl- res… ”

“Here, try this.” Ransom repeated the word for him over-enunciating every syllable, “Re-spon-si-bil-i-ty.”

Holster’s brows drew together, his nose scrunched up in concentration, and after two tries he was able to pronounce it perfectly. His eyes went wide, eyebrows rising high on his forehead. “Oh my gosh! I got it. Did you hear that, Justin? I said it right!” He squealed with delight and jumped up and down several times, displaying his excitement. “Come on! I wanna drive the racecar game. I enough tokens left for us to drive three times!”

Ransom gladly went along with him this time. It was hard not to when all that glee for tackling such a hard word was busting out of Holster’s small frame, spreading outward from him and infecting everyone they passed with a similar sense of accomplishment. Holster didn’t hesitate to stop complete strangers and ask for a high five as he shared his success.

When they reached the racing game, however, it became apparent right away, that Holster was far too small to play the game himself. “Hey, Justin. My feet don’t reach the pedals. Can you help me play?”

Without hesitation, Ransom sat down in the driver’s seat, adjusting it for his long legs and patted his knee. Holster climbed onto his lap, but not before unwrapping his lollipop and sticking it in his mouth.  Then, he wrapped his small hands around the steering wheel. Though he couldn’t see it, Ransom was sure Holster’s face would be sporting hearteyes to rival a Disney Princess.

It was strange, he thought, as the game began and their simulated car began to drive, just how in sync they were even like this. It was as though that drift compatibility they showed on the ice transferred with Holster when he transformed back into his seven-year-old self. Ransom wondered what that said about their friendship.

Most likely it said, that they were always destined to become bros-for-life, no matter what the circumstances.

“That your step-son?” A woman’s voice drew her from his reverie, and he looked over. A boy about ten years old had sat down in the seat next to them. His mother (most likely), stood behind him.

Heaven help him if he were in charge of parenting Holster for  real. Rather than say that, Ransom simply shook his head. “No. I'm his babysitter. Friend of the family.”

“Nuh uh,” Holster said, chiming in without missing a beat, “he's my boyfriend.”

With a sigh, Ransom pinched the bridge of his nose. “Adam, we’ve been over this already.” He turned his head to address the woman further, because for some reason, he had an unmitigating need to set the record straight. Perhaps it was a concern that she’d report him for some imagined inappropriate behavior. “Yeah, he has a crush on me, and I've tried explaining I'm an adult and can't be his boyfriend. It’s been a struggle, but what can you do?” he said with a shrug.

Holster took the lollipop out of his mouth. “I don't have a crush on  you, Justin. I lovvvvvvve you,” he said, drawing out ‘love’ for at least five seconds. “When I'm all growed up, I'm gonna marry you. Just you watch. Even though you’ll be super duper old then. I don’t care, because you’re my true love.”

Ransom was positive he'd be visibly blushing if he had lighter skin. He waved his hand in Holster’s direction. “See what I mean? He’s persistent.“

 

***

 

“Oh my gosh! I love ice cream!” Holster squealed when Ransom held open the door to Frosty's.

“Well, it’s frozen yogurt.”

Holster rolled his eyes at him, which looked positively ridiculous behind not only his glasses, but the shutter shades he insisted on wearing still. “That’s like the same thing, duh.” He bounded over to the cooler and peered into the case.

Ransom heard him muttering, trying to sound out the names of all the flavors, trying and failing. “Would you like some help?”

Holster sighed, “No, teacher says I’m supposed to try and do it myself or I’m never gonna learn.”

“Well,” he said, looking down at him, “what if I gave you a hint? Just one?”

“No,” and the determination in Holster’s voice was so strong, Ransom felt inspired on his behalf. “That little tent there, that’s probably an ‘A’, and two angry eyes….’W’?”

“Nice. Can you think of a flavor that has ‘aw’ in it’s name?”

Behind him, Ransom heard a group of people snicker, and he tried to ignore them, and keep Holster on task.. Yet when he distinctly heard them make sounds as though they were mocking a person with mental disabilities, repeating everything Holster said in  _ that _ voice-and judging by Holster’s slumped posture, he’d heard them too--Ransom saw red. He was filled with so much rage that someone, strangers, had made Holster...  _ his _ Holster cry, that he had to intervene. How dare they do that to someone he loved! He spun on his heel so fast, he almost lost his balance (almost). “Excuse you?”

The teens and they were definitely no older than sixteen, all of them, had the nerve to smirk at him. “Yeah can we help you?”

He deadpanned, sending daggers in their direction.

“Oh lighten up, dude. We were just kidding around. Kid’s gotta learn to take a joke, especially the way he is.”

The unmistakable sound of Holster sobbing, had Ransom’s hands curling into fist. Rather than do something he’d not only regret, but get himself arrested for, he followed his father’s mantra, and "fought with words.”

“Seriously?  Does it make you feel better about yourselves to make fun of a little boy? You aren’t so self-absorbed that you failed to notice that right? That he is a little boy?” When they said nothing, Ransom continued, “ Is bringing a kid to tears your idea of a good time? Bullying a child? You disgust me.”

One of them opened their mouth to, no doubt, offer an excuse in their defense, but another patron spoke up first. “Didn’t your parents ever teach you that if you can’t say something nice, to just keep your mouths shut? You should be ashamed of yourself.”

This arguing continued on for several minutes, until the shop manager got involved.

_ Oh great. Now I’m gonna get myself banned from Frosty's. Bitty is gonna be pissed. _

To his great surprise, he found the tables turned, and the manager escorted the teens out, asking them to please not come back.

Ransom knelt down in front of Holster, who tried to dry his eyes with his sleeve, to no avail. So he helped him out, wiping away the tears with his thumbs. “Hey, buddy. You okay?”

Even though the tears were gone, Holster’s chest still heaved as he tried to catch his breath despite the sobs. “S’not my fault! Why... do people have to be so mean... to... to me? I... I…” He didn’t finish, and instead, threw himself at Ransom, wrapping both arms around his neck and crying into his shoulder.

Ransom returned the hug, rubbing his back. “I know, I know, Adam. It is mean, and wrong. I know it’s not your fault. How about we get a treat and get you home?”

Holster nodded. “Okay.” He walked to the counter. He had to stand on his tiptoes to see over it, but nevertheless, he spoke to the cashier. “Excuse me, ma'am. Is your yogurt Kosher? Mama says, I gotta eat Kosher food.”

The cashier smiled. “Yes. All our yogurt is made from Kosher ingredients.” Then, she leaned down a bit to address him more clearly. “But, our kitchen and restaurant aren’t Kosher certified. Is that okay?”

“Yeah. Mama says I just gotta try my best. Do you... do you have strawberry yogurt?”

“We sure do. What would you like on it?”

“Everything.”

Outside the shop, Ransom, crouched down. “Want a piggyback ride?”

“I love piggyback rides. Does big me like them too?”

He chuckled. “He likes giving them. Grown up you is a really big guy. I don’t think he wants anyone to give him a ride.”

Holster slurped on his treat, a few sprinkles falling onto Ransom’s shirt. “S’not true. When you see big me again, you should offer him a piggyback ride. I bet he’s always wanted one from you, cause you’re a superhero. You stood up for the little guy, just like they’re supposed to do. I bet if you tell him that, Big Me will fall in love with you too.”

As they walked back to the Haus, Ransom wondered if seven was too young to fall in love with someone. He was no psych major. There was no way he could be sure.

 


	5. 10% Survival Rate

“Pass the popcorn, will you, Bits?” Lardo asked from where she sat on Shitty’s lap.

The whole group had crowded into the Haus living room for movie night. Bitty and Jack had crammed themselves into the large armchair. Honestly, Ransom thought, they were fooling no one. Or maybe just not fooling him. The Frogs plus Whiskey and Tango, lay sprawled on a thick comforter on the floor. Holster, who hadn't left him alone for five minutes since they left Frosty’s, had curled into his side, snuggling the Captain America plushie he’d won earlier.

“Hey, Justin?” he whispered.

“Yeah, what is it?”

“Why does the movie got words on the screen?”

“Do you know what it means when someone is deaf?”

“Yeah. That means they can’t hear.”

“That’s right. Well, Rafa is Deaf, and we have the words on the screen so he can known what is going on in the movie.”

“Got it, but what happens when there’s a scary part like when that dinosaur ate the guy on the toilet and Rafa’s gotta cover his eyes? How’s he know what’s going on then, or when to uncover his eyes?”

Well now, that  _ was _ a good question. Ransom grabbed his phone and sent Whiskey a text for an answer. He heard a soft chuckle as Whiskey read the message.

“Hey, Adam? When there’s a scary part in a movie, I just have Will here tap me when the scary stuff’s over.”

“Oh. Okay.” And that was all there was to that question, as the group settled back into silence.

By the end of the film, Holster had fallen asleep. While the rest of the team filtered out of the Haus, Ransom cradled him against his chest and climbed the stairs for the attic. Not even two steps inside their room, a thought from earlier in the day blindsided Ransom.

He’d referred to Holster as his, as someone he loved, and even though it was only in his head that he’d thought that, it rang true nonetheless. He’d been willing to get himself banned from Frosty's by defending him. The fact Holster hadn’t left his side since they returned was only partially the kid’s fault. On instinct, Ransom had wanted to keep him close, to protect him from any other cruel words. Why? Because the thought of someone else hurting Holster had made him sick to his stomach. Because he never wanted to see him cry like that again.

He settled Holster into his bed, making sure he tucked him in tightly, and sat down in the computer chair. The more he thought about it, about those feelings now floating at the forefront of his mind, the more he couldn’t believe he hadn’t realized it before.

Holster was the only one he’d let anywhere near him when he dealt with his test anxiety, because when he broke it down to its simplest level... Holster meant safety. There was this low level awareness he had, a constant, that meant he  _ always _ knew where Holster was, on the ice or otherwise.

Hell, when he thought about it, truly thought about it, all the girls he’d dated in college had borne a strange resemblance to Holster: Blonde, above average height, garrulous and outgoing with a side of misanthropy.

Holy shit.

He was in love with Holster, too. No, not the seven year old Holster. The adult version, the one who was his best friend. His brain didn’t see just the young version of him when he’d been ready to go into battle on his behalf, he saw his giant best friend, crying in his bunk over hurtful slurs thrown at him sophomore year.

Though he climbed into bed, he didn’t sleep a wink.

 

***

 

A loud yawn filled the attic, startling Ransom out of his head. When he realized what the noise was, he bolted up in bed. His uncoordinated feet couldn’t make it down the ladder fast enough. Once he stood on the cold, hardwood floor, he found himself staring face to face with Holster…

All twenty-four years, 6’4”, two hundred and twenty-five pounds of him.

“You’re back!” He wasted no time throwing himself at Holster in the bottom bunk and wrapping him in a hug. “I am so glad you’re back to you again. Wait. Do you remember what happened?”

Holster chuckled. “Yeah. I was a handful, I’m sure,” his voice was rough, still thick with sleep, but it’s deep timbre had an effect on Ransom nevertheless. What effect was that?

The resonating bass of it hatched a metric fuckton of butterflies in his stomach.

It was as though his revelation had made his body get with the program, and all the telltale signs of attraction, of adoration, were firing on all cylinders this morning. “No, not really.”

“Uh huh,” Holster said in disbelief, “you all were just so happy to deal with little Adam’s self-esteem troubles?  _ You _ were more than okay with him insisting you were his boyfriend?”

Ransom wriggled under the blankets. He chalked it off to being cold, but in reality? He just wanted to be close to Holster, which in hindsight, he should have thought about more in-depth. Those little kid clothes no longer fit, and had been shed (or shredded) sometime in the night.

_ Stay away from his dick. Stay away from his dick. _

“I didn’t mind it, Holtzy. I promise. But hey, can I ask you something?”

Holster sighed. “Is it about what I think it’s going to be about?”

“Depends. Because there are two things I want to talk to you about.”

“Go ahead,” he said, curling onto his side to face him, and Ransom found himself surprised with just how much he wanted to kiss Holster in that moment.

“Why didn’t you tell me you they held you back at school? I wouldn’t have chirped you about it. I swear.”

Holster rubbed his eyes. “I know you wouldn’t have, but even years later, I’m still embarrassed about it. I was born extremely premature, Ransy, like we’re talking like only a 10% survival rate premature. Twenty-three weeks.”

Whoa. It was too early for that kind of heavy.

“I had so many damn problems when I was a kid. It took me until I was thirteen to physically catch up  to my peers. Believe me, it shocked the hell out of my parents when I shot up a foot in eighth grade. No one expected me to end up this big. But, um... being born that early tends to have some permanent problems. My eyesight for one. My... dyslexia for another. It took them forever to diagnose me, because they assumed my reading troubles were related to my craptacular eyesight.”

“You’re dyslexic? Dude, Holtzy, you can’t even tell.”

“I know. I worked harder than hell to find ways to adapt. Honestly, listening to audiobooks while I read along made the most difference. That, and finding a good font for me.”

Ransom smacked himself in the forehead. “I am so sorry I chirped you all those times for your devotion to Comic Sans.”

Holster reached out and pulled Ransom's hand away from his face. “Don’t worry about it. You didn’t know. Can we talk about that other thing? Look, I am sorry if all my little kid flirting with you bothered you. I promise, if you just let it go, I won’t make it weird.”

“Is it true what the team thinks? That you’re… in love with me?”

Holster rolled over onto his back, staring at the bottom of Ransom's bunk. “I’ll... well I can’t say I’ll get over you. That probably won't ever happen. But I’ll keep it to myself if that is what you want, but yeah.”

“Why didn’t you ever say-”

“Rans, you had a girlfriend most of that time. Not the same one, but you were rarely single. It would have been an absolute dick move to say a damn thing.”

He licked his lips. “I’m... I’m single now.”

Holster groaned. “So what? You know how I feel now. Like I said. I swear I won’t a big deal about it.”

Ransom mirrored Holster’s groan with an exasperated one of his own. He climbed out of the bed, fumbling around in the dim morning light until he found the light switch. Then, he grabbed a pen so he could mark a folded piece of paper on the desk. He crawled back under the covers and handed the paper to Holster.

“You made me this. Do you remember?”

As though it terrified him to open it and find out the answer, Holster nodded.

“Open it.”

With trembling hands, Holster  unfolded it until he found himself staring at a cleanly marked check in the ‘Yes’ box. “You... you…  you... do?”

“I had a lot of time to think about it, about how I felt, and I realized that I love you, too. I should have figured it out sooner, but it’s not something I ever thought about before. I never seemed to understand that when I was complimenting guys that it wasn’t objectively.”

“What made you realize it?”

“You want the truth? Defending you from those kids yesterday. I didn’t want anyone to hurt you, ever, because... you were  _ mine _ . God, that sounds so terrible when I phrase it like that, but y-”

Soft lips contrasted by the rasp of stubble surrounded them pressed against his own, and those butterflies? Well, someone just injected them all with pure, undiluted, caffeine. They fluttered around his stomach like crazy. It electrified him, growing in intensity when Holster pulled him on top of his chest.

 

 

Ransom couldn’t get enough, and given the blissed-out noises Holster made, he couldn’t either. Thank God for the thick fabric of his sweatpants separating him from Holster’s naked form, his dick especially.

Still, he eventually broke the kiss. “As much as I’d love to continue this, I think... it would be best, if we maybe went on a few dates first. Like, I want to do this right, because if we fuck this up, I don’t think our friendship could survive. Or if it did, it would be changed in a way that wouldn't be good.”

“Yeah,” Holster said before kissing his forehead. “Plus, Ransy, I am fucking starving.”

When Holster had dressed in the first pair of pants and hoodie he could find, Ransom remembered something that little Holster said yesterday. He crouched down, “Hop on.”

“A piggyback ride? Down the fucking stairs? Have you lost your mind?”

“Oh yeah. I didn’t think about-”

Holster pulled him into a hug. “Ask me after breakfast. And yes, I’d love one.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to the cool cats at [omgchatplease](http://omgchatplease.tumblr.com/) for letting me bounce ideas off them and for stellar cheerleading.
> 
> Come visit me on [Tumblr ](http://secretgeniusshittyknight.tumblr.com/)


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